It Happened On A Thursday
by everyone'ssister
Summary: Tag for 12.22–12.23. Who We Are and All Along The Watchtower. It all happened on a Thursday and Dean is overwhelmed. Too much has happened in one day; his mind and body, his heart, just can't... Hurt!Dean Worried!Potective!Sam
1. Part 1

(((I'm going to go slightly alternate universe with this; the Nephilim fled instead of Sam finding him in the house.)))

IT HAPPENED ON A THURSDAY

Part 1.

Cas is gone. Going cold in the dirt. Their mother is gone, not even a hint of her on the wind. Dean is on his knees...the earth firm and unthreatened underneath him. But everything around him is falling to pieces, raining down around his ears. The world is slowing and speeding up, the last day catching up with him as his body and mind, his very senses, deny what has taken place.

Sam's footsteps fade as he hurries into the shabby house, understandably concerned about the nephilim and what it had done to Kelly. But Dean's heart aches with the silence, with the way nothing or no one breaks the quiet breeze wafting over his broken skin, sending chills down his throbbing spine. Tears are frozen in his eyes as he kneels, shellshocked by the recent happenings, the air nearly knocked from his lungs that are burning from the heavy breathing he'd done in his fight with Lucifer.

Sounds echo through the wood, the gentle wind barely disturbs the smooth surface of the water, the lights of the nearby city reflecting like Christmas lights on the lake...Dean simply hurts.

He can feel the burning and dull aching inside him, all over his skin, in his bones. The way his heart beat is loud in his ears, his eyes burning. As he reaches out a hand to help with his suddenly awful balance he stares down at the limb in confusion; he can't feel it, isn't at all sure it's his except that his eyes see his sleeve and his fingers and scars.

He vaguely hears Sam, or a voice he assumes is Sam. He hears his name, a muffled, almost scared sounding, "Dean?"

He feels his eyes respond, his head turns and his eyes are filled with a quickly incoming little brother, worried puppy dog eyes sweet enough to make you nauseous. Dean really really wants to hug him, wants to pull Sam into his arms hard...wants to feel the very realness, there'ness' of his little brother.

(He tries to tell his sluggish mind not to think it, but it's too late: he thinks how close he came to Sam being the one stuck there, or himself...god, he and Sam had gone through so much the last twenty four hours and were somehow alive and together...and something inside him sighs, sighs sweetly with relief.)

And when Sam's arms close around him and pulls him tight against his chest, Dean hugs his huge, younger brother back equally as hard...it just simply feels like coming home.

He pushes the guilt down and away, because he can't hide the shaking or the tears in his eyes, the way his breaths are too fast, too loud...just holds onto Sammy because he's still here, _thank you god, thank you Chuck_...he's still here.

"Dean," he hears faraway, "Dean, c'mon brother, I know, I know...but you gotta breathe..." he feels Sam's hand slowly going up his back so that he's prepared when the two fingers pressed into his throat over his pulse point. "Lucifer did quite a number on you, should I take you to the hospital?" Dean can hear the terrified hitch in Sam's breath, wants to assure him, knows he doesn't want an answer though, doesn't expect one.

And then suddenly Sam gives in, finally lets that in-charge mask of glorious, strong, badass 'John Winchester' leadership slip away and holds Dean even closer, hiding his face in Dean's collar, Sam's hands fisted in the back of his coat.

"I'm so sorry," Sam whispers against his neck. And Dean knows he's not apologizing because he feels guilty or because he blames himself, even though that would probably come later, but because he feels the same pain and devastation Dean does. "I am so, so sorry."

And sweet, selfless Sammy is _sorry_. Sorry for Dean, wishes his older brother didn't have to feel this, wishes he could have protected him from watching yet another ally sacrifice their life for them, watching Cas die...god right there in front of him, powerless to stop it...and their mother. Ripped from their very hands and simply... _gone_.

Simply gone just like thirty-four long years ago.

So Dean pulls back just has hard, gathers fistfuls of Sam's jacket in his hands and pulls him closer, buries his face against Sam's shirt and takes his slowly but surely calming breaths full of _sammy-scented_ air... _neverlettingyougopleasedontleavemedontdie...youcantdie_.

And of course Sam gets the message.

"Dean..." Sam says softly though his voice is even. "Dean, you're beat to hell we've got to go..."

Dean screws his eyes closed tight, holds Sam down harder...they can't leave, they can't just leave here...it would be like leaving _her_. And Cas, Cas had to be buried. Never burned god, never burned _comebacktousCasIknowyoucanyouvedoneitbeforeyouhearmedammitcomeback!_

He feels Sam sigh and he knows his brother gets the gist of his panicked, swirling, heartbroken thoughts. The younger Winchester slowly pulls away from Dean, hands firmly on his biceps and he meets his eyes and stands, pulling Dean up with him.

Dean's head spins once on his feet, nearly forcing him back down to his knees, but Sam keeps him upright, takes his weight with a quiet 'umphf'. Before he even realizes they're making their way around the house towards the car, and Sam's got an arm around his shoulders and under his armpit more then less keeping him on his feet.

"Dean," Sam says again and the older Winchester vaguely wonders if he knows how to say anything else.

"Dean." He says more firmly, and then he's being pushed to lean against Baby, her metal surface cool under his fingertips as he scrambles for a grip on her to keep himself upright. Sam's hand is on his chest warm and heavy and pushing...and god, it feels good feels like punishment and blame and undeserved love and devotion that he'll accept anyways because he needs Sam, needs him like air.

"Dean," Sam says again and Dean wants to roll his eyes but he can't because of the fear and the confusion shining from his little brother's eyes...and it's all for him. Sam's already forgotten Cas and their mother in the face of Dean's wounds and pain, and his wishes for Cas to be buried.

"I need you to say something," Sam says in a hushed voice, taking the keys to the impala hanging from his older brother's numb and cold fingertips. "I need to know you're alright."

Dean swallows convulsively around the huge lump in his throat, the lump made up of shock, intense failure and Jesus...he _misses_ them already. His eyes are wide on Sam's face, skittering to the side and to the ground.

Sam sighs and grabs a shovel when Dean doesn't answer him. "Okay," he says gently, "Okay...let's do this first."

And this time Dean follows behind Sam, the large shadow of his brother and the shovel ahead of him. A shovel. His little brother is going to dig a grave, going to dig a grave for him...for their friend. That was messed up. That was wrong.

When they stop just within the tree line, Dean jerks the shovel from Sam, surprising them both with his strength. He takes it and begins to dig. He can do this. He can do it for Cas. Sam watches silent for a moment and then disappears. And Dean knows what he's doing, knows what he's going to get, he swallows again fresh burning tears in his eyes.

The sounds of the shovel hitting the dirt is rhythmic and Dean doesn't break it, it's the only control he has right now. He doesn't stop, not when his arms scream in agony, not when he can't see for the sweat rolling down his face or the tears dripping from his nose or the spinning of the earth, the warped sound of his ears popping in and out, the way the breeze feels like icy daggers against his face.

Doesn't stop when he's dug deep enough, doesn't stop when Sam stumbles back to him. The weight in his arms, cradled close to his wide chest the shape of Cas. Mislead, confused, loyal Cas...Cas who deserved better. Cas, who he couldn't help, who had died fighting their fight.

Doesn't stop when Sam goes to his knees and gently lays his burden on the ground, and Dean can see the jet black hair and khaki of his trench coat...Cas' trench coat. And he doesn't stop digging, keeps going as if he can delay the inevitable. His friend's body in a deep, dark hole...they would have to shovel soil on top of him, cover his face and his hair and his trench coat...block out his air...block out the light of earth that Cas loved so much, sacrificed so much for.

"Dean." Sam's says softly, "It's time."

Dean ignores him, keeps digging and Sam walks over to him, places a hand on his shoulder, "C'mon Dean, you know we have to..."

He jerks his shoulder from under Sam's touch and keeps digging, shivers wracking his body, his breaths coming out in quick pants more like sobs than anything. And Sam looks hurt, his face drawn and pale and sad too. He reaches his hand out and grips the handle of the shovel, forces Dean to stop.

"De..." he pleads.

"No!" Dean screams, his eyes jumping to Sam's face streaming and wild. But it's too late, Sam's taken the shovel away and the hole he himself has dug lies dark, an open gash in the earth. He falls hard to his knees holding his stomach, a hand clutched to his _too tight, too tight chest, can't breathe_ , throwing up on the damp, freshly dug up dirt. He feels Sam's hands on the backs of his shoulders just before his whole world goes black.

...tbc

Hope you guys enjoy some more beautiful feels even though the episodes last night covered us pretty well FINALLY! ;);) REVIEW IF YOU LIKE?!:):)

GUYSSS! Wow...I think 12.22 may now be in my top three episodes...what an amazing episode! What about you guys, what did you think?


	2. Part 2

Part 2.

Kelly lies still and pale amidst the whiteness of her gown and the bedsheets, she's dead...finally at peace. Sam's heart grows impossibly heavier as he reaches out and gently shuts her eyes. Yet another soul he had tried to help and had slipped through his fingertips into the eternity beyond the veil of this world.

He shudders with the chill in the house, searching through it for signs of the child. The air is charged with energy, snapping around him with tension and when he's sure the structure is empty he breathes in great big relieved breaths as he steps out and back into the fresh air.

The breeze flutters his hair over his face and into his eyes sending a pleasant coolness over his skin, burning his eyes as they burn with lack of rest. He knows he hasn't fully realized what has happened, knows that his calm is only temporary...god, their mom.

Then he sees Dean kneeling in the dirt beside their friend; Dean's best friend, and his heart finishes breaking. Shatters for Dean, for Cas, his life stolen from him, for their mom, who knew what unspeakable terrors awaited her...for this world; all of the universe's future an uncertainty now.

"Dean." He says, going swiftly to his older brother, can see where his face is already swelling, the split skin oozing blood. And Dean slowly turns to him, and the god-awful pain, guilt, shock in his eyes hits Sam like a punch in the gut. His eyes are unfocused and far away, tears frozen on his pale cheeks, his mouth open, lips trembling...but no words. Dean is silent.

But Sam knows Dean, knows inside what he's thinking and feeling. Drops to his knees and squeezes Dean so close, so close. Close enough to feel his too fast breaths, to hear his too fast heartbeat, and Dean's hands responding, clutched like vices in the back of his jacket. Holding tight, never letting go tight, the terrified type of tight.

And then Sam is more or less dragging him back to the impala and Dean still hasn't said anything, he's shaking and wide eyed, still bordering on a panic attack and god, Sam's scared. But Dean is adamant, and Sam aches down to his very soul for him as Dean bends nearly double digging a grave for his angel.

Lucifer had beaten Dean to hell, Sam's shocked he's still on his feet, and sure Cas had healed him, but the wear and tear was still there...the life-sucking weariness ever present. He knows he sounds like a broken record but Dean isn't listening, flinching with every call of his name, like _nothatsnotmeicantbeherethishurtstoobadpleaseimnothere_...and Sam's not even ashamed... _thank you God, thank you Chuck, he's here_!

He can see and feel Dean's resolve knows his brother isn't going down until he's done for Cas what he feels he needs to. He tries to scramble together some pieces of his broken heart so he can be there for Dean, Sam heads back with heavy feet to kneel beside the Angel of Thursday. _Their_ angel of Thursday.

"Thank you Cas," he whispers, pulling the lapels of his beloved trench coat over the stab wound, hides the evidence of tragedy and injustice...that Cas had been brutally stolen from them. "Thank you so much for everything."

 _For bringing Dean back to me, for saving him from hell. For falling for us, for dying for us...for believing in us when there wasn't a reason too...for fighting with us when we would inevitable lose...because you believed we were right._

He pulls Cas up towards him, slipping his arms under his knees and under his shoulders. Cradles him safe and precious against is chest, delivers him to his grave, bears him back to Dean. And god, his brother...he's not ready for this, Dean can't do this. Sam can see and feel the cracks in his control, in his mind through their connection, can read the desperate denial with the tears and sweat running down his face.

God forgive him, but it's so easy for Sam to leave Cas there on the ground and go to Dean. To wrestle the shovel from his shaking hands, to watch wave after wave of excruciating physical and mental agony wash over Dean. That hurts more than anything else.

And then Dean breaks, breaks and turns to him, his eyes so wild...so terrified and broken. _No!_ Dean demands, pleads, begs...refuses to put Cas to rest; to give up on him. Sam would have taken the time to feel this too, to feel the guilt and the failure if Dean didn't pick that moment to pitch forward, heave and slump limp into the dirt.

"Jesus Dean," he mumbles, his hands slipping on the shoulders of Dean's coat momentarily before he slips them under him and pulls him onto his side, the last of his vomit dribbling out of his open mouth and down his chin. Sam bites his bottom lip and reaches gently, using his sleeve to wipe the substance from his brother's face.

"Okay," he whispers as he watches Dean shake, his head on Sam's thigh, his broken knuckles in the dirt, Sam doesn't even want to know what the rest of his body looks like from Lucifer's kicks. "Okay, let's get you inside."

He huffs as he gets to his feet with Dean's dead weight in his arms, "Dammit Dean," he laughs nervously, "You always make me do all the heavy lifting."

Sam shifts his brother a little in his arms so his head rolls to rest in the cranny of his shoulder and neck and heads for the house, the breeze flirting around their figures and Sam's hair, sending shivers up and down Sam's spine, pronouncing the trembling of his older sibling in his arms. Sounds of the nearby city and life there going on as normal float over the smooth waters of the lake.

He's glad to say the house feels safer as he slips in with Dean, sighs with relief as he lays the older Winchester's still body on the old, shabby couch in the small living room. He pulls one of the cushions down under Dean's head, pushes hair back from his forehead as his fingers come once again to his pulse point. Sam can't help it, the fluttering of his heart and the adrenaline fading filling him with dread, the emptiness at their sides where Cas and their mom should be filling him with fear.

Fear that Dean will do the same, that Dean will slip away from him. Will follow them.

He bites the inside of his mouth as he looks down into Dean's face, at the bruising and the swelling. Even unconscious Dean's eyes move restlessly under their lids, even in the darkness forced on him by his unwarranted wounds Dean couldn't find refuge from the darkness of their lives. Sam gently takes his hands, brings them up to rest on his stomach, feather light fingertips brushing over the busted knuckles where Dean had gone up against Lucifer to buy them some time. A fight they both knew he couldn't win, they both knew he didn't stand a chance...both knew he'd get beaten to hell.

And Sam clenches his fist seething, thinking of the other times Lucifer had left bruises and blood all over his brother...and now, now how bad was Cas' death going to impact Dean? And their mother? Mary was trapped with Lucifer in that terrible world...that world without he or Dean to care what happened to it.

And god what was _that_ going to do to Dean?

Suddenly Sam knows what he has to do. Knows he can't ask this of Dean, knows Cas wouldn't ask it of him. Knows his brother wouldn't come back from throwing dark dirt over Cas' body hiding him and trapping him in the airless, black soil. With a steady thumb Sam reaches down and gently smudges the blood from under the cut along Dean's sharp cheek bone just below his eyelashes.

"You're gonna hate me for this," he says softly, with a sad, mirthless laugh. "And I am so sorry, but I got to..."

His hand runs down Dean's sleeve once before rising and leaving, relishes in the feeling of his brother's warmth _alive_ underneath. He slips out the door and walks back to the grave Dean had dug, lowers Cas' body into it.

"I guess I should say something." He says softly, looking into the blackness of the woods, trying to ignore the burning pain of what he's doing, saying goodbye yet again. "I," he looks back over his shoulder towards the house, towards Dean.

"I know Dean would want to be here, and I know you would want him to be..." he clears his throat and angrily swipes at his wet, burning eyes. "But Dean is alive Cas, _he's alive_...and I need him." _He can't break over this, I need him_.

"I..." he pauses and smiles softly, thinking of his passionate, good, loyal brother, "...we love you."

And then Sam buries Cas. He does it alone. He does it for Dean.

It doesn't take long. He smooths over the dirt, mindlessly pats it just to be thorough a few times. When he's done he throws the shovel in Baby's trunk sighs into the quiet night, lets the crickets singing wash over him as the screen door creaks open going into the house. Going to Dean. Going to make sure he's alright, to make sure he doesn't need a hospital...to make sure he's still simply passed out, still breathing lying there on that old couch getting some much needed rest.

Only when he gets to the living room Dean isn't there anymore.

...tbc

Thank you for reading! :):) REVIEW!?;);)


	3. Part 3

Part 3.

Mary was simply gone, into thin air. Just gone. An unexpected shock, a slap in the face. And Dean was his four year old self again...one of the most important figures in his life snatched away from him and a big empty chasm of confusion all that remained. This is the hazy panic that wakes Dean up nearly paralyzing him as he blinks up at the unfamiliar ceiling.

That world; it had been so much like Purgatory. The same violence and freedom had heated his blood, that same adrenaline and high to survive but never, never would he wish or want for anyone to be trapped there. And now his mother was stuck there, stuck with a scary ass Bobby and an even scarier ass Lucifer...

What had they done?

And that feeling, it's back. God, that feeling he'd prayed he'd never have to feel again. That guilt, panic, responsibility Dean had felt the whole time Sam was in hell. The feeling of a hand squeezing his insides, squeezing the life out of him, squeezing the will to live right out of his very soul.

It was a soul crushing burden of, _I need to help him, I have to save him_.

And now, now it falls back on him like a thousand boulders and Dean's heart isn't as hard as it was back then, the battle–hardened hunter has since discovered the beauty of completely giving himself over to the people he loves and it comes back to him in the bittersweetest of agonies.

His thoughts are slow and fuzzy at the best. As he shifts fire and ice sweep over his body making his groan roughly under his breath. He gracelessly rolls off the couch and lands on his hands and knees, gritting his teeth to keep from vomiting again. (Yes he remembers smelling, dirt and throw up and Sam yelling his name, though it is vaguely.)

The room spins and he holds a hand to his forehead as if it will help steady his surroundings. Using the arm of the couch he pushes to his feet, his other arm wrapping around his middle. Everything, everywhere is equally painful...the only hurt that's drowning out all his other wounds is the deep, raw, pulsing ache deep inside his core...his heart, his soul.

In a purgatory concocted in his own mind his mother fights for her life against Lucifer, Dean stumbles to the door. His vision is swimming, his balance off, grimacing with the pronounced screech of the screen door, squinting into the night. It's black as ink but Dean can see the glowing yellow-gold slash in the fabric of their reality like it was still there from earlier that day...like it was before it closed between them and Mary.

He nearly falls down the stairs as he descends his head faraway and echoing with cries of help from Sam as he was tortured in hell by Lucifer...with the blue eyes of his mother as the dust of that ruined world and the cruelty of Lucifer chokes out the love and light in them...he can't breathe, he still can't breathe...

In that clear space by the water Dean stops, his eyes aflame with what he sees in his mind, helplessly tries to find that tear, that tiny door so he can join his mother's suffering, so he can take some of the load. His eyes burn with the cold breeze coming off the lake, his pulse pounding in his temples too loud, God he can't hear anything...

"Mom?" He croaks out, a hand moving jerkily through the air, searching for that thin slice of pulsing energy that would take her to him. "Mom, where are you? Answer me!"

His eyes burn with something else than just the wind, with desperate, _afraid_ tears, seeing Cas cold and still in the dirt at his feet again, seeing the light die from his eyes...Dean _will not_ accept that she is gone too. The betrayal he feels in his stomach at himself realizing he's accepted Cas' death cuts him so deep.

He's suddenly four years old again, John has left him alone in their dark, untidy house with a crying Sammy in his arms. An empty bottle on the dining room table in an even emptier kitchen and he's realizing he will never be enough for Sammy, not like this, not on his own... _please don't leave me_ , he begs... _please don't leave us_.

...

Sam's heart jumps into his mouth which his hands come up to cover nervously, as he scans the room for signs of his missing sibling. His mind races trying to think where Dean might have gotten to, or what could have taken him...it wouldn't be the first time Dean had simply _disappeared_ from his side.

"Dean?" He calls, his senses heightening with worry and hunter's instinct. His feet take him unerringly to the door where it creaks in complaint as he throws it open. His eyes light on Dean's figure in the clearing where so much had happened in the past few hours. He lets out a deep exhale of pent up worried air, and frowns as he watches Dean stumble with a hand waving in the air, mumbling under his breath.

His eyes are shining and wild, movements jerky and nervous, mouth set in a thin, sad line. With a hand wrapped unconsciously around his stomach for support Dean looks like a strong breeze would topple him over right now. Sam finds himself covering the ground between them before he's thought twice. His hand on Dean's arm to keep him upright and close to him the next moment. He's glad the work is done, now he could look to Dean...figure out all that's hurting him and help him heal physically, mentally and emotionally.

Dean freezes with his younger brother's touch, and twists around unsteadily to latch unfocused eyes on Sam's face. His look softens as he recognizes baby brother, his hand fists in the front of Sam's jacket holding on, keep him close. And that small action soothes Sam's heart oh, so much. His arm comes around Dean's side instinctively in case he takes that more than likely face plant into the dirt.

"S'mmy..." Dean says softly, slurring with pain. "Lookin' for mom."

Sam bites his lip and watches the sadness and confusion chase each other over Dean's face. "Hey," he greets gently, aware of how bad Dean's head probably hurts. "Was just looking for you, you don't look so good, Dean."

Dean pauses as if considering this, as if becoming aware for the first time he's been beaten to hell and back. "I," he looks over his shoulder hesitating, his eyes faraway.

"We have to get her back Sam, I have to save her...she'll never be the same, she'll be stuck there forever..." and Sam tugs on him, pulling him closer, tries to shush him but his own voice breaks when he hears Dean's last broken words. "...he can't have her, he can't have her just like he couldn't have you."

"Dean." Sam says firmly, though his voice sounds wet even in his own ears. "We will get her back, we will; together...but right now big brother, we're no good to anyone."

And Sam sees the exact moment the realization punches Dean in the gut. His wide eyes fall to the ground where Cas' body had lain. The younger Winchester curses himself for his use of words, for the words that would never fail to make Dean think of all the people he imagined he had failed.

"Cas..." Dean gasps, nearly in a whisper, as his eyes devour yard upon yard of earth, searching for his fallen friend...for anything that hinted of him, Sam's heart aches more and more.

"Dean," he says lowly, a hand gripping his jacket, pulling him back to face him. Hands framing his cheeks, making their eyes meet, making Dean ground and center himself...or at least attempt.

"Cas is gone..." he says slowly, and he can't make the anguish in his own eyes or tone go away. Sam would have endured the cruelest of deaths a thousand times if he didn't have to watch the light fade from Dean's eyes at that statement.

His mouth hangs soundless for a moment before his green eyes tear away from Sam's glistening with wetness. "Where..." he croaks, "Where is he?"

Sam grips his hand, more like wraps his fingers around Dean's wrist and gives a gentle pull, grimaces because of what he's about to show Dean as the trusting returning pressure of Dean's fingers bite familiarly into his skin. Dean's eyes, so big and insecure meet his and hold there, the question the unsure agony burning in them.

"I'll show you." Sam says, his voice tender and Dean follows with the pull of Sam's hand.

Sam's heart is beating wildly, his soul full to the bursting as he comes to stand beside Cas' grave again all too soon. He dreads Dean's reaction, he dreads the pain he will cause his brother, dreads Dean's anguish and anger...dreads those eyes that will question _why Sammy why?_

"Wh, what is this?" Dean asks hoarsely, his face drawn and white, looking old, God so old...too old.

Sam opens his mouth to answer, has to try again...the words dry as ash on his tongue. "I, it's Cas." And that's all Sam Winchester, who's never lacked words in his life, can say. It's all he can say to his brother as he stands beside he's best friend's fresh grave.

Dean's eyes bore into his, somehow more present and coherent than he's been in the past two hours, "You buried him?" The 'without me' unspoken, but heavy in the air.

Sam nods, swallowing thickly, watching Dean do the same, watching his green eyes fill and then turn away from him to gaze at the dark dirt marking the last of Cas.

"I," he says, frowns confused, "I didn't get to say goodbye." The pain and guilt tears into Sam and he's starting to second guess himself. Dean's shoulders slump in, he shivers as he looks down at the grave. And Sam waits...waits for Dean's mind to catch up, to process this, to...

Dean looks up, he meets Sam's eyes straight on, tears streaking down his face silently, hitting Sam like a punch in the gut, the sorrow and the _hurt_ more powerful than anything else he'd ever seen. He unconsciously holds out a hand as if to ask his brother to stop, _don't blame me, I did it for you...please Dean, I need you_.

"Why Sammy, _why_?" Dean asks, voice husky with tears, the confusion and betrayal all too clear, his eyes sharp with pain...

" _How could you_?"

tbc...

Omggg I legit just cried writing this, hope you like?! REVIEW IF YOU DID!;);)


	4. Part 4

Part 4.

"How could you?"

The question is like a slap in the face, stinging with impact. Sam jerks back with the hurt and hiss in Dean's tone. The older brother looks down at the hand Sam still has outreached, and then slowly back up to his little brother's face, his eyes bright with tears, and it hurts Sam to watch his walls going up. Hurts to watch Dean's grief-filled mind shutting him out, to pull defenses against him.

 _It's me,_ his soul cries out, _it's Sammy, I'd never hurt you, I love...I need you._

Dean's eyes fall to the darker ground that marks Cas' fresh grave and takes a step back from Sam. He stumbles pressing a hand to his temple, but as Sam jumps to steady him he pushes him away, turning away his face so Sam won't see the tears there...the crushing acceptance that Cas is there, cold and dead and gone.

"Dean," he starts. To beg and to plead, _let me help you. You need help Dean, you're not okay._..

"No," Dean chokes out. And Sam's surprised he's not yelling at him, surprised he isn't in his face hitting him...in fact Sam would have much preferred that. Dean goes to his knees in the soft dirt and it's the worst punishment Sam could have endured to have to let him. He stands there hands hovering, about to go to his knees beside his brother, about to pull him back up and to the impala...

"I just..." Dean mumbles, his voice cracking. He waits a moment, not even glancing Sam's way, "I just need a minute."

The younger Winchester bites the inside of his mouth watching the back of Dean's head as if it will give him some great revelation as to how to absolve the situation. It's the minute shudder in his sibling's shoulders and the unintelligible whispers that break him, Sam joins his brother on his knees.

Dean winces with the change in the air sensing that Sam is close, glances his way, running fingers under his eyes angrily, dashing away the tears. And that's when he hears and understands Dean's whispers.

"I'm sorry, so sorry I wasn't here...you're family."

Sam swallows thickly, hesitantly places a hand on his older brother's arm. "Dean, Cas would understand..."

"No!" Dean weakly yells, brushing Sam's hand off his arm and jerking away from him. "This is your fault." Sam watches as Dean slumps forward a little, watches his fingers dig into the soft earth, bury his hands nearly all the way in the dirt. "It's your fault I wasn't here..." he whispers, "Cas deserved that Sammy, he deserved that much."

Sam winces with the blame in those words, winces with the pain in Dean's voice. Watches as Dean clutches his shaking fists in the dirt, as he turns his head to rub the wetness out of his eyes on the shoulder of his jacket again.

"I'm sorry." He whispers, leaning closer to Dean, their shoulders brushing. "I'm sorry."

Dean's breath hitches and he pulls his arms tighter around him middle, his top lip grimacing with pain and Sam's seen these signs enough times to know Dean needs a doctor, needs to be forced to rest...to forget. His body and mind are in overdrive with grief and denial...guilt that he should have stopped this somehow.

"I'm sorry," Dean echoes, eyes still unfocused and far away fixed on the grave. "I'm sorry."

He lets Sam pull him away.

...

Sam's there when Dean wakes up. Of course he is. He's the first thing Dean sees; but that doesn't keep his eyes from skittering away. It hurts, God, does it hurt. But Sam takes the win, Dean woke up. After a day of drug induced sleep, it had taken his brother another complete twelve hours to rouse...all of which had been considerable torture for Sam.

The doctors and nurses had been appalled with the evidence of the beating Dean had taken, and looking over Dean's charts Sam is too. He takes a moment to shut his eyes and breathe, to be grateful...overwhelmingly grateful that Dean is with him, is alive. Besides severe head trauma and five broken ribs, his older sibling was battling with internal bruising and what the doctor had labeled as 'exhaustion'.

Sam knew it as sleep depravation, fighting for your life and for the world for seventy-two hours straight, taking multiple beatings and more emotional and mental trauma than one person would normally endure in a lifetime. When the doctor had announce he'd do a head scan Sam had been so relieved, he's been terrified of the damage Dean's little trip in their Mom's mind might have done.

"Sammy?" Dean asks hazily after a few quiet moments staring at the wall.

"Yeah?" He answers quickly, "Yeah Dean, I'm right here."

"Can I get some water?" He asks, voice rough with disuse and dryness.

"'Course," Sam says, running to the sink behind the door and using one of the paper cups there. He brings it back holding it for Dean as his brother grimaces getting up on his elbow.

"How you feeling?" He asks, voice hushed, knowing with the frown between Dean's eyebrows that his head is still aching.

"Everything..." Dean frowns while swallowing again, fighting against the dusty feeling on his tongue. "Everything hurts."

Sam laughs, "Yeah, that was expected, you're pretty much bruised everywhere, including inside."

Dean lets himself fall back against the pillow with a huff. "That bad huh?" Sam nods, "I only remember it hurting a little, that probably means really bad." Sam nods again.

"How about you, are you okay?" He asks next, his voice the sharpest it's been.

"I'm fine, Dean, I'm fine as long as you are." Dean looks relieved, his eyes coasting shut.

Sam threads his fingers together and looks down into his lap nervously, "Uhm...Dean?" He starts, watching Dean's face, a little frightened out of the corner of his eye. God, he doesn't want to fight, they need each other so much right now. They need the trust, and the security, the warmth and the _reason_ to live right now.

"Not now Sam," Dean says without opening his eyes, "Just not now."

But the coldness in his tone is enough to let Sam know what he'd done wasn't forgotten. That Cas and their mom wasn't forgotten, the pain, the guilt and the loneliness. And Sam watches his face for a moment, even with the hurt inside he's elated. Dean is back with him, talking and aware...Dean is with him. While they had lost most everyone close to them...they still had each other.

"I know your mad or whatever." Sam says softly, watches Dean's face for reaction or acknowledgement. "But De, please remember, you're all I got...you're everything. Don't take that away from me."

When Dean doesn't respond they both pretend like he never said anything.

...

 _"Dean."_

 _"Yeah Cas?"_

 _"Here, I want you take this in case...in case I don't make it tonight."_

 _Dean looks down to find the mixtape he'd made for Cas outstretched towards him in the angel's hand._

 _"The hell Cas? I told you it was a gift, you keep it...and what do you mean? Of course you're gonna make it, we're all gonna make it."_

 _Cas simply smiles, reaches over and slips it into Dean's coat pocket. "Take it." He says, and god it's so final Dean can't even say no. "I want you to have something to remember me by."_

 _And Dean can't swallow around the lump in his throat at Cas' unspoken plea,_ _ **please don't forget me**_ _._

...

"Are you just never going to talk to me ever again?" Sam asks later that night.

And Dean says nothing. What can he say? That boulder on his chest...he can't get past it. He can hardly breathe past it. He's got his coat gripped in his fist, and that tape is right there, right there in his pocket where Cas left it. Why hadn't Dean listened to Him? He was the angel after all.

He's envisioning that world, that place where their mother was trapped. Hot and dry, desolate and cruel...they'd left her there. And those woods right behind the house where Cas had tried to save a mother and child's life...they'd left Cas right there in those woods. Just left him there. And he can't speak past it, can't get past it...can hardly breathe past it.

"I was trying to help you." Sam mummers quietly, staring out the window at the city lights outside. And god his little brother looks awful. Dark bags under his eyes, there's a subtle shake about him hinting at exhaustion, a gleam in his eyes that says he's overtired and high on caffeine, his own grief still tearing into him.

"Don't hate me, Dean." He whispers.

And Dean had thought he couldn't feel anymore worthless. He was wrong.

tbc...

Whaaa, why am I making all this pain? *head hurts from stress for boys* REVIEW!?;);)


	5. Part 5

Part 5.

Dean is released from the hospital way too fast for Sam's taste and his plans were to take his brother straight home to the bunker. Dean was still quiet, worryingly so. He wasn't entirely mute, he still mumbled things here and there, swore when he moved too much and hurt himself, sleepily asked if Sam was still there in the early morning hours...but that was it.

When they both cleared the hospital doors and Dean took several deep lungfuls of fresh air, Sam had the impala pulled up and his heart was already on the road heading towards home. But Dean pushes himself up from the required wheelchair and looks at Sam. Looks at him, right at him...for real for the first time.

"We're going back." His voice is gentle, but the steel behind the statement is unmistakable.

Sam sighs, "Why?" He simply questions. He deserve that much right? If he's going back there he deserves to know why.

"We can't... _I can't_ just leave them there, it's not right Sam, it just doesn't feel right."

Sam watches Dean look away from him, wrapping arms around himself as he shivers, his face still pale, eyes faraway and haunted. Sam allows Dean's duffle to slip from his shoulder and throws it in the back seat trying to keep his face and heart neutral.

"Alright," he says softly, looking over to his brother. "Let's go."

Dean allows Sam to drive without an argument, which is something Sam guesses. But he's so afraid of where they're going or where Dean is...of his mind set. The guilt and grim resignation in his brother's eyes and posture are nearly as potent as his own feelings. He's afraid for his brother, afraid of what this was going to do to them, to their relationship.

True, they've been through the unthinkable uncountable times and had come out of it closer and stronger than ever...but Sam's heart is filled with doubt and hurt. And as he drives them ever closer to that place where fate had changed their lives forever, his hackles rise even more as Dean's tension grows and his hands fist together in his lap.

Dean wasn't ready for this. Not mentally not physically...Sam could have beaten those doctors to a pulp when they announced his release. The bruises riddling Dean's skin haven't even faded, the hitch in his breath with every step isn't gone. And Sam knows this is normal but his heart is fragile and sitting on the edge of panic as he thinks of his losing someone else...losing Dean.

And that's why he agrees to come back here with Dean. It might be a reminder of what they lost, but also a reminder of what they hadn't. And bringing Dean back here feels kind of like tempting fate to Sam but at he same time he won't lose Dean...not to fate, not to some stupid fight because Sam won't go somewhere with him.

When he pulls up beside the house and uncranks Baby they sit silent for a moment. Sam can see why Cas chose this place. It's completely the same as before that night...quiet, still and peaceful...this was the haven Castiel had brought Kelly to for her last days on earth. Dean sighs deep beside him like he's bracing himself for something, and then in perfect tandem they open their doors and stand.

The wind rushes up from the lake, spreading a cool mist over their faces, playing with Sam's hair. Birds are singing, the sounds of the nearby city echoing and adding an even more peaceful aura. The sun peeks through the tree limbs casting mottled shadows of leaves on the gravel ground and Sam actually feels soothed.

He sighs one last time, allowing himself to close his eyes and turn his face up to the sun momentarily before walking around to the trunk of the car. Dean stands beside the car looking around too, it's the most relaxed he's been since this whole ordeal. Sam doesn't even know what to make of that, but he'll take it as a win watching the tension slowly fade out of his older sibling's shoulders.

Sam shoulders both their duffle bags and grabs the weapons bag, the bang of the shutting trunk lid shakes Dean from his trance and he turns to look at Sam. Eyes wide and raw, but when they're gazes meet there's a sad smile there for him and Sam's heart leaps with joy.

Dean follows him to the door and Sam lets them in, throwing their duffles onto the ratty couch and dumping the weapons bag on the coffee table. Dean stands looking around, but mostly his eyes are on the windows looking out.

"Are you sure you're okay with this?" He asks Sam quietly.

Sam nods with a soft, surprised smile on his lips, heart soaring with the considerate, loving question. "Yeah, for a little while." He makes sure to clarify. Even though they both knew Dean could choose to live in Iceland and Sam would go with him.

Dean hums under his breath at that, and Sam's so thankful for that agreement, as his older brother disappears into the rest of the house and Sam can hear him walking around upstairs peering into every room, familiarizing himself with the place. Cas had said he'd warded the place but Sam adds a few of his own sigils and salt on every window and threshold...he's a little paranoid yes, but he figures he's entitled.

After he's done he goes through the kitchen, cataloging their supplies and finds them sadly lacking...he wonders what Cas had been feeding Kelly exactly...or what the pregnant woman had been craving. He goes up the stairs and peeks into the brightly painted nursery to find Dean there looking out the window.

A window that looked down at the dark patch of dirt that marked Cas' final resting place.

"Dean?" He asks softly, coming up behind him and looking down over his shoulder.

Dean grunts in response, and Sam hates the lines of pain and tiredness in his face or the way he still wraps his arms around himself in protection of his sore insides.

"I'm gonna make a supply run, wanna ride wi..."

Dean breaks him off with a shake of his head.

"No. I didn't think so." Sam says with a rueful smile, putting a hand on Dean's shoulder as he turns to leave. "Okay, well I'll be back in a bit, try and get some rest, 'kay?"

Dean lets fly a wry smile at that to let Sam know that no, he most probably wouldn't be taking that advice. Sam chuckles hopelessly under his breath and leaves the room with a half-hearted wave. He dislikes leaving Dean alone, but he'll feel much better once he's gotten some good, wholesome food in his brother's belly. The stomach Dean doesn't even seem to hear growling.

Sam runs a hand down his face in a nervous tick as he heads towards the nearest grocery store, for once at a loss of how exactly to help his hurting sibling.

...

Dean hears the impala rumble to life and drive away. Sighs as he pulls his coat closer around him, bites the side of his mouth with the pain of ever step. He thought going up the stairs was agony, going down hurt more, every muscle and injury getting jarred cruelly. He heads straight for the door...knows Sam won't be able to stay away for too long.

He blinks in the afternoon sunlight, his eyes against the soothing breeze...sighs with the sounds of nature...with the evidence that the world kept turning without Cas, without Mary. He uses one arm on the rail to support himself while the other wraps around his ribs trying to keep them still. He's out of breath by the time he's in the yard but he limps determinedly over to Cas.

He calls it Cas in his mind, because he can't call it a grave or anything...just can't. He stands there in the warm light, his back to the sun, staring down at the dirt. His eyes are dry, he couldn't cry anymore even if he wanted too. He thinks of Cas warm and alive slipping that cassette into his coat pocket, that smile and those shining blue eyes and he's filled with anger and regret...how could Cas let that, and only that, be their goodbye?

He takes the tape from his pocket and fingers it for a minute, looking down at it, studying the scratches and the marks that had been put there by the Cas and by how many times he'd played the damn thing. With a flick of his fingers he throws it down into the soft earth of Cas' grave.

"It's a gift idiot; you keep those." He says and then turns his back and walks away...Cas should've known there was no forgetting him.

...

 _"Mom."_

 _"Dean, hey." She greets coming down the stairs, an empty glass in her hand, undoubtedly getting something for Kelly to sip on through labor. "How's it going down here?"_

 _He shrugs, watching her as she walks to the sink and fills the glass, comes to join him by the window hair glinting in the afternoon sunlight, eyes catching and sparkling in the light. God, she's beautiful. His heart is filled with the tenderest of loves...a love he's only ever felt for Sam._

 _"Just waiting for Lucifer to show."_

 _She nods, the look on her face showing she understands the severity of the situation._

 _"Mom..." he starts off, stops. Is unsure of how to say what he wants to._

 _"Yes Dean?" She asks patiently, "What is it?" Her gaze goes deep with worry and concern, and how long as Dean wanted to see that look there?_

 _"Go." He says softly, in a rush of breath, his hand falling on her arm, a steady pressure begging her to turn and run out that door. "Go, go before he gets here, wait for me and Sam in town somewhere...just go, just get out..."_

 _She opens her mouth to talk but he just talks over her, "Mom, we can't lose you again, I can't lose you again. Just go, go home...we'll come back, I promise we always come back. But you," he voice breaks, "You don't always come back. You're just gone..."_

 _"Dean." She interrupts him, a hand reaching up to cup his cheek, "Stop. I'm not leaving you boys...again. I'm just not, nothing can stop me."_

 _"But..." he starts but she cuts him off._

 _"I'm not afraid of him, Dean." she smiles grimly, fingering the hand gun in the waist of her jeans._

 _"Mom." He says gently, evenly. "You do not know him, you have never been up against power like his..."_

 _"But you boys have." She says serenely, pride a burning flame in her eyes. "You boys have time and time over...you won't have to do it alone again."_

 _Dean fights back the sudden emotion rising in his throat, tries to not feel the way he accepts her support and help (no! she can't stay, she has to go, she has to be safe!) Tries to not feel that crushing responsibility lessen a little, tries to not listen to that little voice that says 'share the burden, she's your mother, she's Sam's mother...she can take care of him too..._ _ **she can take of you.**_ _'_

 _"Mom," he manages out, "You know that gun won't do you any good against Lucifer."_

 _She shrugs, sends him a toothy grin so much like Sam's it's a punch in the stomach. She reaches into her coat pockets and shows Dean the matching brass–knuckles, both inscribed with sigils. She slips them onto her fingers and curls her hands into fists._

 _"No, maybe not." She muses, looking down at her weapons... "But at least these will make him think twice about messing with my boys." She looks out the window, eyes faraway, pocketing the brass–knuckles again._

 _"Let Lucifer come...let him come." And the steel in Mary's voice makes Dean shiver in fear...for her_.

tbc...

OMG really enjoying this guys. Hope you are too!? Lemme know with a REVIEW!?;);)


	6. Part 6

Part 6.

It's dinner time when Sam gets back. He had moved as fast as he could, grabbed everything he thought might tempt Dean into eating and some healthier items too. He pulls the impala up close to the door, loads way too many groceries into his arms and stumbles inside barely making it to the kitchen table where he drops the bags.

"Dean?" He calls, "Dean, I'm back."

He gets nothing back but silence as he half expected and shakes his head as he goes for the last load of groceries. He hopes Dean is deep asleep but knows that's a slim chance, instead after he locks the impala he makes a lap around the house making sure Dean wasn't wandering outside by himself lost in his dark thoughts.

He heaves a sigh of relief as he places the last groceries on the table and slips the milk into the fridge and looks around the room trying to think where Dean may have gotten off to. That's when Sam remembers Kelly.

Kelly's body lying in the bed upstairs all in white, her eyes shut, finally, peacefully resting...forever. Sam feels sick knowing exactly where Dean is. He bounds up the stairs skipping two or three, stands in the door way panting staring with wide eyes at the sight before him.

His brother sitting at the foot of the bed, arms folded across his chest, more like hugging himself, staring down at Kelly. Eyes faraway and lost, expression sad and defeated. Sam curses himself for forgetting the corpse in the house.

There's a sweet cloying scent in the air, but nothing too bad...her gray skin is the only thing that gives away her slumbering appearance. Even so Sam presses the back of his hand against his mouth and reaches with his other to grab Dean's arm and pull him away.

"Dean, c'mon," he urges and his older sibling allows himself to be pulled upright, but anchors himself firmly to the floor of the room.

"We should bury her." He says softly, voice barely above a whisper. And Sam inwardly groans and his insides sink at the vacantness in Dean's eyes, meaning his brother had stumbled upon Kelly here, another death, another loss sprung upon him and it left him more or less emotionless. Or unsure of what to feel.

Dean sways on his feet and Sam holds his elbow tightly. "Dean, you need to rest. You're still not one hundred percent, man, c'mon..."

Dean resists, pulls his elbow from Sam and meets his eyes. "What about you?" He questions, voice sharper than Sam expected.

"What about me?" The younger Winchester asks, confused more than anything.

"You need to rest too, Sammy." Dean says, his voice still hushed, reverent for Kelly.

Sam's heart melts with the first time Dean has called him that since all this happened.

"She deserves a proper burial." Dean says, his eyes aflame but still kind of far away with emotion and sadness. "She died for what she believed in...the most honorable death anyone could ask for."

And of course Sam couldn't say no. Couldn't say no to Dean, not to his brother.

"Okay." He says simply. "Let's do it then."

Between the two of them they easily carry Kelly's small form down the stairs and out the back door. The smell grows worse as they move her...but it's something the Winchester's have grown accustomed to. They lay her resting amidst her white sheets on the dirt where Mary had disappeared and slowly they gather the wood. Dean, unconsciously limping around, Sam slow as weariness settles in over his bones.

They're silent as they shape the pyre, as they lay her on it, silent as Dean lights the gas that Sam had poured over the white sheet that obscured her features. With a 'whoosh' it comes to life, hot and angry...righteous and cleansing. Kelly could be at rest now, she could be pure and safe just like she was meant to be.

As the light fades and the smoke is rising with the snapping embers Sam tries coax Dean back inside for supper, but his sibling refuses. Sam sighs and decides he'll have to bring dinner to Dean. He leaves him with a gentle pat on his back, looking over his shoulder apprehensively, and peeking through the screen door periodically as he prepares their food.

Dean stands a black silhouette against the burning funeral pyre. Won't do Kelly the injustice of turning his back on her as she finds her final peace...won't turn his back on her because he already failed her once. Sam sighs heavily, wondering if the shadows of this place will ever truly be gone, wonders if Dean will ever be able to forget.

When he comes out with Dean's sandwich and his medication he finds his brother sitting on the steps, elbows on his knees, eyes still on the fire, reflecting them and flashing with the flames. Dean accepts the food without a word and Sam goes back in for his and their drinks.

He lets out a half contented and half exhausted sigh as he finally sits, Dean sends him a tired smile through a mouthful of sandwich and Sam's glad to know that he isn't going to have to fight that battle. He smiles back comfortingly and counts out the pills, feels some of his worry dissipate as Dean takes them and throws them back, guzzling his coke thirstily.

"How are you feeling?" Sam asks quietly after he's savored the first few bites of his sandwich, not breaking the mood and not taking his eyes off the fire wanting Dean to be comfortable, to feel like he didn't have to hide or be strong.

"Better." Dean answers vaguely, his body already relaxing beside Sam as he reacts to the strong medicine the doctors had prescribed him.

"You feel better, or you've felt better?" Sam asks wisely and Dean sends him a look with an arched brow. So, he's felt better. Sam gives a quiet laugh shaking his head fondly at his older sibling.

"How about you?" Dean asks stintingly...he's making an effort. "How are you dealing with all this?"

Sam shrugs, eyes burning as he gazes into the flames. "I'm tired, Dean." Is all he manages.

And Dean, of course Dean understands.

His arm is lifting to wrap around Sam's shoulders before the younger brother even begins to lean into him. He pulls Sam tight against his side even though it's got to hurt like a bitch and Sam allows himself to rest his head against Dean's shoulder, allows himself this privilege and comfort...this luxury.

From here Dean's jacket half obstructs his view of Kelly but he can still watch the flames crackling and snapping towards the sky, burning her up and making certain she's gone forever and ever. For the first time he allows himself to feel his own emotions..Dean is safe right now, safe right beside him he can try and understand his own feelings for a moment.

Except there's no need. Dean has figured it out already, Dean watches over him and knows for him.

"I'm sorry we couldn't save her." He whispers hoarsely into Sam's hair.

And god, for everything that has happened that little sentence shouldn't heal Sam so much.

But it does.

...

 _Sam is quiet in the door way, but Kelly sees him, smiles at him, motions for him to come nearer. She looks terrible, she's in pain and pale and dying...he was supposed to save her...she was supposed to be saved._

 _He swallows thickly and walks over, sits on the edge of the mattress. She winces with that small movement, shifts trying to find a comfortable position. Her hands gently cradle her belly, protecting it from some unseeable threat._

 _"Hey Sam." She greets, smiling calmly._

 _"Hey," he says softly, "How are you?"_

 _Her lips quirk sardonically and Sam's heart jumps thinking she's so like Dean when faced with danger, "I'm dying."_

 _He purses his lips nodding, understanding what she's saying. 'I'm lucky to have lived this long.' He swallows looks down and away, she should have so much more time to live. He jumps with her hand on his, jumps with the sheer heat of her skin._

 _"Don't do that." She whispers. "Don't blame yourself."_

 _Sam shakes his head stubbornly, tears in his voice, "We were supposed to save you."_

 _She tilts her head to one sided a far off dreamy smile on her lips, "You tried. There was no saving me Sam, not even from the beginning."_

 _Sam refuses to agree, shakes his head, bites the inside of his mouth to keep from retorting angrily._

 _"Listen to me," she demands, hand still on his squeezing weakly. So Sam looks at her, eyes haunted and guilty. "Promise me you'll try for him, promise me he gets the chance to be good..."_

 _Sam hesitates and then nods slowly. She's smiles and relaxes against her pillow._

 _"Don't cry for me," she says softly, "I had my chance at life, at love...and I took it."_

 _Sam knows life will always screw you over, and love...love takes everything. And then it takes you._

...tbc

Oh man idk why but, I'm finding this so therapeutic and lovely! How about y'all? Lemme know with a REVIEW!?;);)


	7. Part 7

Part 7.

 _Mary watched Lucifer appear out of the portal to the alternate world just behind Castiel...she reached out a hand, she heard her boy's cries of warning but they were all too late. She stands helpless in the doorway as Cas falls, gone and beyond help before he even hits the ground._

 _It's in that moment she knows. Knows the unavoidable outcome; that her boys would sacrifice, one of them would throw themselves away...grab Lucifer and jump, jump into that unknown hell and gladly take the fall to keep her, and, the other Winchester brother safe._

 _Except she knows all too well. There was no safety for Sam away from Dean, no safety for Dean away from Sam...they depended on each other for everything...there was no surviving, no thriving without their soulmate by their sides. No. Her boys must stay together; they must be kept together._

 _She steps up. She steps between them raising her fists to fight a fight she can't win...pushes the Devil back until they're swallowed into that door just before it closes forever. Her heart breaks with its whispered goodbye to the earth she'd learned to love again, to her family...to her boys._

...

Something wakes Sam in the night. He lies blinking at the ceiling, listening for the sound again, body strained with tension and adrenaline...this place really kept him on edge. He can hear the wind sweeping over the lake and running through the trees outside, can hear crickets and the lightest patter of dribbling rain.

He heaves a sigh running a hand through his sleep tussled hair. His body objects to the interruption of his rest but his mind is alive and sharp, blood thrumming through his veins at a fast pace. As he sits up his neck and back protest, as well as his legs that are hanging off the end of the couch.

He'd given Dean the bed in the spare room upstairs, basically pushed him under the covers as his brother's eyes shut by themselves. Come to think of it that noise had sounded above him, and...there it was again. A sound she was all too familiar with. Probably the only sound that could have roused him from such a deep sleep.

It was Dean. A moaning groan he whined out in his sleep sometimes during a nightmare...an especially painful one. Sam's up and taking the stairs in twos before he's even thoroughly rubbed his eyes clear of sleep. His heart aches with the sound, the thought of the torture Dean's subconsciousness is probably putting him through.

With a hand flat against the smooth wood Sam pushes the partially closed door open, it shows a sleeping Dean frowning deeply and whimpering under his breath, hands fisted in his sheets and teeth gritted. Undecided whether to wake his brother from his much needed rest or not Sam approaches his bedside softly.

The tears leaving wet tracks down Dean's cheeks makes the decision for him. He reaches out and places a light hand on Dean's chest and gives him a gentle shake. His heart races underneath Sam's palm and he swallows giving Dean a more solid shove.

"Dean." He says softly, "Dean, it's me...it's just a dream man, you need to wake up."

He gasps out a surprised breath as Dean's hand latches around his wrist like a vice. His brother doesn't wake though, just holds on to Sam, holds on to him for dear life and the younger Winchester wonders if this is how Dean looks inside. Wrecked, a mess, terrified and holding onto his little brother so tight, so strong...desperate and insecure just _knowing_ that he'll lose the last person on this earth that knows him and loves him...knows him and loves him the very most.

"No," Dean whispers under his breath, pressing his face into the pillow... "Please mom, no, don't leave us!" Then softer, a plea... " _Don't leave me_."

Something in Sam snaps with that. Something terrible and cold inside him that won't have Dean suffering for anything or anybody...not even their mom. He places both hands on Dean's shoulders and shakes him soundly, knows it's got to hurt his brother but he does it anyways...would rather have Dean in this shadowed place with him than stuck inside his own mind torturing himself with the fact they had lost their mother once again.

Dean wakes up instantly. His eyes flying open wide and scared, breaths huffing from his mouth, chest rising and falling in heaves, his hands holding onto Sam's wrist so tight... _please don't leave me, don't leave too...you're here right? You're still here_. His eyes are locked onto Sam's face telling himself over and over again, _he's here, he's here, he's here_.

"Hey." Sam greets gently, "Its okay, I just woke you up, it was a nightmare. Hey," he whispers again as Dean's eyes skitter away from his, a barely noticeable trembling coming to his muscles. "I've got you, it's okay, it's okay...I promise."

"Shit," Dean husks out, a hand rubbing roughly over his face. "Didn't even realize I fell asleep."

And the soul weariness in his voice hits Sam like a punch in the gut as he realizes how little he's actually seen Dean sleep since he woke up that first time in the hospital. Suddenly the shakes, and the headaches, and black bags under Dean's eyes in his white face make more sense.

"You haven't been sleeping." He says softy in realization, and it was meant to be a question but it falls off his tongue like that and Dean looks away guiltily.

"I just," he swallows and his fingers run through his hair making it stand up on end, mussed up against his pillow. "I just can't, Sammy." He says in nearly a whisper, hand still clenching in the quilts.

"That bad?" Sam's asks softly, been in Dean's shoes before, felt this pain...the physical, mental and emotional agony nightmares inflicted.

"Every time a close my eyes," Dean whispers. Like it's something to be ashamed of, like it's a dirty little secret he's even disgusted that Sam must know.

The younger Winchester walks around to the other side of the bed, pulls a corner back, "Can I...?" He asks, motioning towards the mattress.

"God yes." Dean mumbles, rolls onto his side facing Sam as the younger Winchester makes himself comfortable.

He's out like a light, breathing steady and peaceful before Sam even has the covers pulled up to his chest. He smiles and reaches over, pulling the blankets up over Dean's shoulder knowing his brother got cold easier than him.

"Goodnight De." He whispers, before drifting off himself.

...

 _Dean looks down at Sam sleeping sweetly right beside him...but he can hear Mary calling to him too...her voice so familiar and longed after as it floats to him from over the waters of the lake. He lets a light hand ghost over Sam's angel soft hair in a reassuring promise that he'll be back before he wakes as he slips from under the warmth of the covers and shivers as his bare feet hit the cold floor._

 _He unlocks the back door and gasps at the cold morning air that hits him the face, a hand supports his sore body on the rail as he goes down the stairs. Limps across the yard, past the ashes of Kelly's funeral pyre and towards the shore._

 _"Mom?" He calls, neck straining as he looks across the smooth dark surface of the lake. "Mom, where are you?"_

 _"On the other side." He hears her voice, distant and ethereal. His bare feet make small ripples as he steps into the water, distantly he thinks it's odd that the water isn't cold as he goes to his mother without hesitation._

...tbc

Good stuff last chapter, good stuff this chapter...good stuff coming;););) REVIEW!?(plz) :):)


	8. Part 8

Part 8.

There's not many things Sam can pride himself in as doing better than Dean. His brother just naturally excelled at anything he put his hands too. Sure Sam was the more bookish of the two, his research more complete and thorough but that was only because Dean refused to apply himself because he hated it so much. And yes, Dean excelled at everything; including being the best brother in the world.

After all it was the thing Dean threw himself into most. He immersed himself and entirely gave himself over to being the absolute best brother, friend and work partner to Sam he could possibly be. Sam knew he would never possibly be better. That being said. Sam was a pretty damn good brother. His instincts were in tune with Dean nearly as perfectly as Dean's big brother radar was with him. He could feel his own blood pressure spike with Dean's peril or excitement...could feel the disrest or blissfulness of Dean's very soul.

So when he wakes up with the hairs on his arms and back of his neck standing up he immediately reaches for Dean's side of the bed even though he already knows he'll find it cold and empty. His heart is thumping away in his temple ad his eyes burn with weariness as he sits up lightening fast amidst the tumbled sheets and blankets.

"Dean?" He calls, pausing to push hair from his face. And when Dean doesn't respond and all is quiet around him in the house Sam leaps to his feet. One glance shows him Dean's shoes still at place by the bed, and his coat still tossed over the dresser...Sam shivers with just the chill inside and he shudders thinking of Dean outside without shoes or coat.

He slips his feet into his boots without bothering to zip them up, pulls on his coat as he rushes down the stairs, cold air slapping him sharply in the face as he bursts through the back door and stares desperately into the gathering light of dusk with Dean's name on his lips.

"Dean!?" He calls, breaths heaving in his chest. Eyes scanning in a circle of his surroundings. His hunter instincts has him noticing the ripples in the water before he spots the dark figure inching farther and farther away from the shore. The lake reflecting the dark blue sky beautifully, a shining gem surrounding the silhouette of his older brother as Dean steadily walks deeper into the water.

"Dean!" He gasps in shock, hand already reaching for him as throws his shoes off and plummets into the cold water. His breath is stolen from his lungs with the iciness of it, and it makes him all the more desperate to get warm, solid hands on his unstable sibling. His clothes cling to him making him heavy and slow, his heart beat a frantic booming in his head, _imcomingimcomingimcoming_.

"Dean!"

He yells again when the water is up to his thighs, and thank you god, Dean pauses where he stands submerged up to his chest. Sam throws himself into the water and swiftly swims the rest of the way to Dean. Standing in the frigid water that's up to his belly button, he immediately wraps arms under Dean's arms pulling back into his chest with hands pressed on the flat plains of his sibling's stomach.

Dean's head falls back on his shoulder and Sam gapes looking down at his brother's smooth features, eyes shut and lashes still on his cheeks. Dean was asleep. His fists were clenched tightly, splitting the wounds already there on his palms open again, his lips tremble with mental pain...but Dean's not even so much as shivering.

"Dean." Sam demands, jerking his roughly back against him shaking him awake. "Wake up, man...c'mon we gotta get you out of this water."

Dean wakes up and the gulp of air he takes in with delayed realization of the cold burns in his lungs and sends him hacking, Sam holds him up so his head doesn't go under as he bends over with his cough. His eyes are wide, face going pale and nearly blue...finally, finally shivers begin to wrack his frame and his hands fly up to grip at Sam's arms around his chest.

"Wha, s, S'mmy," he stutters out, confusion and pain so evident in his voice it physically hurts Sam too.

"It's okay, it's okay," Sam's gushes as he begins to pull Dean's frozen-up body back towards the shore. "Help me if you can, musta been walking in your sleep."

"Shit," Dean gasps, "That's cold."

"You ain't lying." Sam nervously chuckles, sighs with relief as he feels Dean's legs working with him, pulling them through the water and towards the shore. The sounds of their heavy breathing is accompanied by Dean's chattering teeth, his fingers biting into Sam's arms...but the heavy grip, the desperate hold, the pain keeping them together is all too welcome to Sam.

They drop to their knees on the gravel shore trying to catch their breaths, heads hanging between their shoulders. Dean has fallen leaning against Sam heavily, and the feeling of his breaths rocking into his body is a silent comfort, his hands still on his arms a promise, a cry and plea.. _.I wasn't trying to leave you, I'm scared too, I don't understand me either...I'm sorry._

Sam tucks his hair behind his ear out of his face and reaches for Dean, pulls his brother to his feet and back towards the house, his boots forgotten on the shore, their clothes dripping steadily, the wind chilling them even worse. In the freezing, wafting air Dean's body has stopped its shivering, and his tight grip on Sam has loosened...his eyes hooded and nearly closed. His breaths are stuttering through his chest, the younger Winchester can hear the roughness in the elder's lungs already. But even now as Sam shoves him through the door, his thoughts only on getting his brother warmed up, Dean's eyes are fixed on the smooth surface of the lake.

"What the hell is wrong with me?" He asks, croaking hoarsely.

...

Sam hisses as he pushes wood into the stove in the living room, burning the tips of his fingers a little. He shakes them swiftly, wriggling off the burn. He can hear the shower on upstairs where he'd turned the water up hot and pushed Dean into the bathroom after helping him wrestle out of his wet t-shirt and socks.

Sam wipes out-of-place sweat off his forehead as he stands and blinks rapidly as the room spins a little. He sighs wearily, grimacing with his own aches and pains as he strips his soaking clothes off. He shuffles closer to the open stove, holding his hands out to warm them, waves his toes in front of the warmth to chase the blue away.

What the hell was he doing here anyways? He wonders. This wasn't going away...Dean isn't getting better. If anything, everything was hanging lower and darker around their ears. Dean was fighting, he could tell. He was trying...trying for Sam's sake. But even in his sleep what had happened here in this terrible place was pushing him unconsciously towards the brink of despair.

Sam imagines if he hadn't woken, if he and Dean had been in a slightly worse place in their relationship he might have slept through Dean's unintended suicide. Because he has no doubt Dean would have slept through himself drowning especially if he was caught in a nightmare.

He rubs hard over his eyes trying to chase away the black spots in his vision, uses the rough drag of his hands over his stubble covered face to wake himself back up. He still had to look after Dean, he still had to make sure Dean got dry and warm and safe back in bed or else they'd end up back in the hospital; Dean with pneumonia for the upteenth time.

He trips on a stair on his way up cursing under his breath the ceiling spinning above him and he swallows thickly. He opens up the hall closet peering in with heavy eyes, smiling contentedly finding them an armful of clean, fluffy towels. He knocks on the door quietly with the backs of his knuckles.

"Dean? Got some towels." He calls softly. He sighs as the shower continues to run, let's his forehead fall against the doorframe, tries to relax his muscles, the stress and the tension in his body. A gentle sigh falls from his lips and his eyes fall shut... _just for a second_. It's the last thing he thinks before his body simply goes loose, and he slips into peaceful, soft and warm blackness.

...

Dean sighs at the hot water splashing down on his chilled skin. It hurts in the best of ways, it also soothes his aching body, the steam easy on his burning, sleepy eyes. His hands run over his face, fingers staying on his temples, rubbing soothingly...though inside he's in turmoil.

He thinks of Sam shivering beside him, dragging him from that frigid water, thinks of the terror he'd seen in his baby brother's eyes...God, he's gotta snap out of it...he's gotta to get his head on straight before Sam gets seriously hurt. Before he fails someone else again...before he fails Sammy...never Sammy, can't, just really really can't.

He can't survive that, Jesus, he needs Sam. Needs Sam like air and blood and he knows...god help them, Sam needs him just as much. He sets his face, stones his heart as he turns off the shower...fixes Sam's face in his mind, his puppy dog eyes and his sweet, sweet smile, _Sam's here and alive, Sam needs him_.

"Sam?" He calls, "Is there a towel?" And dammit...Sam has helped him so much, Sam's been nothing but there for him at every turn for days and days, _what the hell has been wrong with you, Dean_ , he reprimands himself.

He flinches with a thud just outside the door. "Sam, Sammy? You out there, you okay?"

He grabs the sweats Sam had left him on the counter on the way to the door and opens it slowly...the sight before him making his heart jump into his throat and freeze there; Sam slumped over on the floor towels in his arms, hair askew, greasy and dark and wet around his all too white face.

"Sammy...!" He cries brokenly, falling to his knees and pulling his baby brother's upper body into his arms.

...tbc

*cries with joy and pain with the feels and angst and bromance* REVIEW!?;):);)

(Wedding planning for my sis...bear with me, I'm getting it out as fast as I can.)


	9. Part 9

Part 9.

"Sammy, oh god," he rushes out with one breath, gently palming the upturned side of his little brother's face. Pulling him closer, safe and warm against his own body. Sam is still in his arms, but his breaths bloom over Dean's bare skin with tiny blasts of hot air and the older Winchester sighs with relief with the signs of life.

"Dammit, you're scaring me kiddo," he says softly with a chuckle, a thumb rubbing over the dark shadows under Sam's eyes. With his injuries Dean knows he can't lift and carry Sam but all too gently supports his brother as he shuffles them slowly down the hall and into the bedroom. He stands panting and exhausted over Sam once he's got him lying on the bed.

He pulls the sheets and blankets up over him, tenderly brushes strands of hair from his forehead with the tips of his own shaking fingers. He pulls on a shirt to fight off the chills wracking through him and picks up an extra blanket from the foot of the bed and spreads it over his little brother as Sam begins to shiver in his sleep.

"I know you're tired and you'll probably wake up hot." He whispers, "But if you get sick I'll never forgive myself." Sam always tended to run hot, always complained Dean kept the motel rooms too warm, or wrapped him in too many covers when he was sick or injured. And though Dean doesn't realize it the most painful, beautiful part of that sentence he just uttered is that it was one hundred percent true, and that Sam would indeed work harder to get well to save Dean the self-disgust and hatred.

Sam simply hums in his sleep, turns his head on the pillow towards Dean's voice. Dean smiles a little self-satisfied at that, but nearly falls face first into his side of the bed with a pained sigh. He finds himself edging closer to Sam and the heat radiating off him even while he shivers, he smiles a hand reaching out to his baby brother, nearly touching his.

"That's right, you can sleep," he slurs into the pillows, as his eyes fall shut... "I'm here now, I'm here."

...

Dean wakes up to heat...god, so much heat. He's rolling away on his left side before he's fully conscious. His skin is tacky with his own sweat and he frustratedly kicks off the covers allowing drafts of cold to filter in against his skin. He rubs his eyes sitting up with a yawn, blinking in the late morning light.

That's when his eyes land on Sam. He's laying in the exact position Dean left him, except now his cheeks are bright bright red, there's a slight tremble about him and his hair is plastered to his head and pillow with the slickness of his sweat. Dean gently reaches over and unnecessarily presses his hand to Sam's forehead to check his temperature.

He hisses, bringing his hand back, wiping the excess sweat off on the bed sheets.

"Shit, shit, shit," he swears under his breath, jumping up and grabbing some of the towels off the hall floor where Sam had dropped them last night.

He soaks them in the tub, the cold of the well water flowing from the shower head making him shiver. He wrings them out a little and then quickly makes his way back to Sam. He strips the blankets and sheets off Sam's body and then begins to lay the freezing towels over him.

"Sorry, Sammy, but you're burning up." He whispers, as his little brother's breath catches in his sleep and the frown between his eyebrows forms, lips pursing into a pout. He pushes wet hair away from Sam's face and gently takes his pulse. Sighs with the steady tempo of it.

He sits on the mattress at Sam's feet with a huff of air, his shoulders slumping over miserably. His eyes bright and shiny looking down the bed to Sam's slumbering face.

"God, I'm so freaking sorry Sammy." He says, rubbing dry hands down his face in a rough scrub, grounding him even more to the here and now. "I don't even know what the hell I'm doing, what the hell I want, or thought I'd get out of coming back here.

"I guess I couldn't just leave them here, you know? Felt wrong, felt like a betrayal." He gets up and walks over to the other side of the bed, hand stressfully running through his hair. He flops down over the mattress on his belly, putting his face a few feet away from Sam's. He studies those all too familiar beloved features, even know in sleep he can still see the exhausted lines in his face.

"But dammit, what is wrong with me?" He asks, propping his chin up on the palm of one of his hands. "I know better than all people what's dead should stay dead...my place was here with the living...god with you Sammy.

"And sure it hurts, hurts like hell...but you were hurting too and there's nothing I can do about mom and Cas but I can do something about you, I can be there for you...I can still save you...from whatever...

"I don't effing care what it is, I can save you. And it's that the point of our lives, isn't that the important thing? Even if I already failed them, I still have a chance with you and that should've been enough..." he reaches out and grabs his baby brother's hot hand and watches his fingers thread through Sam's limp ones, feels and tastes the wetness and salt of tears on his lips.

"...I'm so so sorry, that should've been enough..."

...

 _Sam knows better than to think dreams were good, but he'd had good types before. Not all dreams were nightmares...sometimes he woke smiling instead of shivering or retching into the toilet. Sometimes he wakes with remnants of a happy, light feeling in his soul, sometimes when he meets Dean's happy smile, and watches his brother's restless wandering movements as they prepare to go out on a hunt...sometimes when Sam wakes up Sam doesn't dread his life, sometimes his dreams highlight the good parts of his life._

 _He's standing knee deep in the lake. And he blinks in surprise, doesn't think this place could ever make him feel good._

 ** _De_** **an is here.**

 _Must be. It's the only way it would ever feeling remotely alright. Sure enough the elder Winchester stands a handful of yards away, shirt off, swimming trunks and lower body hidden in the waist deep water. The sun catches those green eyes and Sam blinks for a moment, the blinding smile he's wearing equally as overwhelming._

 _"Sam!" He yells, the smile not fading, simply going a little more playful and on instinct Sam reaches out to catch what Dean has more or less flung at him. He blinks down at the frisbee in his hands. It's orange, Nerf. Leave it to Dean to buy a Nerf frisbee. He feels the smooth surface of it with his fingers, thinks back to the perfect cutting throw Dean had given and he wonders absentmindedly if real Dean knows how to throw a frisbee_. **Probably**.

 _Dean knew how to do most everything._

 _He wraps his fingers around the edge, lays one finger on the rim and sends it cutting through the air back towards his brother. Chuckles when Dean catches it, yelling with the sting as it meets his palm, "We know you're strong, ya asshole," he grumbles._

 _"Nice throw!" Someone yells behind him, he turns breath caught in his throat as he recognizes the voice. And there she stands on the shore line. Hair glinting the most beautiful of all golds in the sun, blue eyes warm and sparkling, nearly as bright has Dean's._

 _He feels wetness seeping into his eyes, "Mom," he whispers under his breath, the reverent name caught by the wind and swept down stream and away...she would never hear it. But still_ _ **she**_ _ **was there**_ _._

 _"It's cold." Comes another confused tone from his right._

 _Cas stands in the water up to his ankles in a t-shirt and pair of Dean's swim shorts, his hair a mess and those all too wide and innocent blue eyes looking to the Winchester boys for guidance. Behind him Dean throws his head back with the clearest peal of laughter, echoing over the water and Cas smiles despite himself._

 _"Stop being a baby." Dean goads as he throws the frisbee to Sam again, and begins to make his way over to them._

 _He stops by Sam who's standing grinning fondly, watching the interaction holding the frisbee he'd unerringly caught again. "You can at least make it this far." Dean patronizes, "We won't let you drown, we promise, right Sammy boy?" He winks a mischievous smirk on his lips and a light in his eyes Sam misses_ _ **so**_ _ **effing**_ _ **much**_ _it hurts._

 _"Play nice boys!" Mary shouts, and Dean waves her off._

 _"Spoilsport." He mutters, "Course we will, c'mon Cas!"_

 _Sam can see the muscles rippling under Dean's skin as he waits to pounce on his best friend as soon as he's close enough to dunk. He grins, not even bothering to stop him. Cas is_ _ **alive**_ _, and_ _ **here**_ _and Dean is_ _ **happy**_ _...Sam thinks one small dunking is a tiny price to pay._

 _He can feel the warm darkness of oblivion reaching out for him, the sweet unconsciousness of dreamless sleep slipping around him and relaxing him, pulling him back into peaceful ignorance...but god, he doesn't want this to end...he doesn't want to say goodbye to this happiness again._

 _But finally he gives in, feels his soul and his mind go back to peaceful slumber because he knows Dean is here in his dreams, Dean is there in his waking world..._

 ** _Dean is here..._**

 _...tbc_

Oh my lord, I legit love my writing rn, idk why...but I worship this chapter. What do you think? REVIEW!?;);)


	10. Part 10

Part 10.

It's not something he even pretends to understand, but Dean feels the exact moment Sam shifts from fevered unconsciousness to deep, healing sleep. It may be the way his breath calms, or how his little brother ever so slightly returns the tight grip Dean has on his hand. His head rolls to the side towards Dean, face smoothing out in rest and slowly the redness fades from his skin and his hair dries.

"Thank you, thank you, thank you." Dean whispers. And he doesn't know if it's to Sam or too Chuck or anybody who's listening but he's so freaking thankful. He brushes a breath of a kiss onto Sam's knuckles before he jumps up and strips the wet towels off him. Gently covers him up with a sheet and changes out the soaked pillow under his brother's head for a dry one.

He draws the curtains extra tight keeping as much sunlight out as he can. Sighs as he looks over the dark room, hopes Sam will sleep peacefully through the afternoon. His stomach growls, reminding him he hasn't eaten since early last evening when Sam had more or less forced a sandwich down his throat.

He smiles fondly and shakes his head, "Be back." He whispers as he pads quietly from the room.

The first thing Dean finds is a bag of the veggie straws Sam's obsessed with, and he's cramming a handful into his mouth as he goes through the cabinets and fridge seeing for himself what Sam had bought them. He chuckles at the cans of tomato and rice soup, the Winchester fix all when either of them was sick. There's also two pies in bakery boxes on the counter beside the fridge and a box of Earl Grey tea, the only kind Dean will even think about drinking. Sam must have been worried while he was shopping.

He finds packets of cinnamon apple oatmeal and sends a 'you're the best little bro in the whole universe' up to Sam where he's sleeping in bed. He finds milk in the fridge and thanks their not so lucky stars there's a microwave in this ratty shack. He burns his tongue on his first bite, but god he's hungry…the hungriest he's been well, since all this went down.

With a warm full belly he heads back upstairs with a steaming mug of tea in hand and Sam's iPad. He'd be damned if he wasn't there when Sam woke up…but they'd both been entirely disconnected from the world for days, it was time for the Winchester's to start easing back into things.

He settles on his side of the bed and pulls the covers up over his legs, he's caught the chill of this old house. Dean sighs with relief as he relaxes back against the propped up pillows, his body still achey and stiff even on the inside.

He looks over to find Sam rolled over onto his side, knees curled up towards his stomach, hand under his head like he'd slept since he was a baby…Dean can't stop the contented smile from coming to his face, let it be insensitive to their loss and unappreciative the sacrifice of their mother and friend…his heart is full to the overflowing.

 _You're here._

…

Waking up is like trying to shove a mountain off his eyes. He wants to sleep forever, but the splash of warm light falling across his eyes and the sound of even, constant breaths are pulling him towards consciousness. The scent of Dean and maybe food surrounds him with a sense of safety and love and pretty soon he's fighting to get his heavy eyes open.

It's the soft, warm light of the late afternoon that's gentle on his still slightly achy head. And it's that same light giving Dean a glowing background, lighting his hair and giving him a halo. Casting sharp shadows on his jaw line and cheek bones, causing his eyes to sparkle a little. Dean would be pissed of he knew how pretty he looked right now, Sam thinks.

He feels a giggle rumble in his chest and scratch in his throat and Dean's eyes leap to his face, expression softening and a relieved smile gracing his features.

"Heya sleepy," he greets. "I'm guessing you feel better?" He says with a fond smirk twisting his smile.

Sam just grunts, nods his head in affirmative pressing his face back into his pillow and shutting his eyes again, content to just exist in this moment here with his brother in the quiet and peace. The silence is interrupted by his growling stomach and he cracks an eye open to look at Dean who's shaking with laughter.

"Don't go back to sleep yet." He says, mirth evident in his voice and Sam's insides melt with relief and joy at that happy tone. "Better get something into you before you get even sicker."

Sam groans as he sits, a hand on his forehead frowning as the rooms spins a little. "Not sick." He contradicts.

Dean snorts in his nose throwing Sam a pair of socks and sweat pants he fishes out of his bag, "That's not what the burning hot fever said."

"Ohh," Sam groans, falling back against the pillows again (ignoring the clothes Dean continues to throw at him, a t-shirt and hoodie) understanding now why he felt weak and drained.

"Yeah, so you sit tight, Imma get you something to eat." Dean levels him with his serious big brother glare, "Put those clothes on Sammy, you're gonna catch your death of cold in this house."

Sam sighs in exasperation as he does as told, Dean was always cold…and as a result he was always concerned Sam was too, but the younger Winchester was a heater constantly sweating it felt like. Right now Sam thinks Dean might have the right idea though, and he happily pulls on the pants and shirt along with the socks, throwing the hoodie to the floor.

He pulls the covers back up to his chest and closes his eyes. Allows himself to gather all his wits about him…to relax into the mattress and smell in the scent of he and Dean together…something he was used to…it was almost the smell of the bunker. Home.

He sighs and rolls over onto his side staring at the curtained window, the bunker wasn't much but it was theirs, you know? And he hated this place, he hated what it meant to them…he hated the shadow this place would always have over them.

He looks up as Dean enters the room with a steaming bowl in hand and Sam sighs with contentedness as he smells cinnamon apple; he and Dean's favorite oatmeal flavor since they were kids. He smiles up at Dean as he takes the spoon.

"Been too long."

Dean laughs at Sam's happy expression, "Be back," he promises heading back down the stairs.

He returns with napkins, a steaming mug and one of the pies Sam had bought. Sam takes one of the napkins, sets the bowl of oatmeal in his lap in favor of the mug of tea and smells in the steam greedily, the warmth wrapping around his face.

He arches a brow at Dean, who opens the pie up and simply starts in with his fork…

"I already ate." Dean goes ahead and assures him, "I've been waiting for you to wake up to eat again." He groans around the apple pie, sending a happy look to Sam, "You da best." He compliments through his full mouth.

Sam laughs, "Damn straight," he confirms, digging back into his oatmeal and he's pretty sure this is three or four packets instead of their usual two, but he knows without a doubt he can eat it all. Feels the uncomfortable gnawing in his stanch beginning to ease, making him slow, and warm and sleepy all over.

The silence stretches on between them, comfortable and familiar and healing. Dean simply smacking a little around each forkful of pie per usual, and Sam lying there following his gaze out the window, finding the little bit of sunset they can see. He reaches out with his spoon to steal some pie and of course Dean lets him, in fact moves his hand so the dish is between them.

Sam watches him, sees the calm and confidence back, the love and pain still there, still so sweetly aching…but it's shoved back into its box and the lid and the lock put on it is Sam. His smile, his puppy dog eyes, his safety…the selfless, unconditional love Dean has for him, devotion and loyalty that never forgot an order, a responsibility now turned into his motto, his lifestyle; _take care of Sammy._

"De…let's go home," he says, holds his breath, wide and pleading eyes watching Dean's stiffening profile.

…tbc

Almost done I think guys…I feel more or less emotionally healed lol, or at least on the road to recovery. REVIEW!?;);):):)


	11. Part 11

Part 11.

" _De…let's go home."_ The simple words, the innocent plea, echoes in Dean's mind as everything else comes to a standstill around him. A sudden fear and self-loathing fills him… _is he even strong enough to bring himself to leave_? It had been evident all along that Sam didn't want to be here, that it was the worst possible thing to do for his younger brother's wellbeing but Dean had insisted, had chosen to ignore that sad, haunted, tired look in Sam's eyes.

But even now something cold and sharp and miserable twists inside him, rebels against the idea of turning their backs on this place, on what had happened here, on the people that had sacrificed themselves for the Winchester brothers. He knows it makes no sense, knows they're of no help to Mary or Cas here… _but still they haven't walked away, they haven't forgotten_ ; something he's so scared of, something he's sure he'll never come back from.

"Dean." Sam says softly, a hand settling lightly on his knee. "We're not gonna forget…you know that. We will _never_ forget them."

And god, the pure anguish in Sam's tone as he says that…it conveys the pain and the guilt and the _I miss them_ that Dean and Sam will carry in their hearts for all eternity. And Dean shuts his eyes against it, against the sweeping feeling of helplessness and failure…the aching wish inside him that Sammy could've been shielded from all this in some other life.

"But," Sam's soft but firm vice breaks him from the cruel claw-like grasp of his emotions. "We're of no use to them here…we can help mom Dean, I know we can, we can save her…but we can't do it here."

Dean turns bloodshot eyes onto his brother, sees the hope and determination reflected from Sam's soul in his eyes. And he nods slowly, swallowing thickly instead of speaking. And Sam squeezes his knee tightly, tilting his head to the side was that embarrassing love–sick expression he gives Dean sometimes.

"Hey," he says lowly, that little smile playing on his lips like he's twenty-four again and thinks he and Dean can get out of hunting someday and have real, normal lives. "We're together, and that all that's ever really mattered right?"

Dean chokes down his doubts as Sam quotes himself back to him… "We can save her Dean. I know we can. But we can only do it together."

"Okay." Dean says huskily, eyes finally jumping from the mattress to meets Sam's straight on. "Okay, let's do it."

The smile Sam gives him makes every single ache and pain totally worth it.

…

It's heading towards dark by the time they've both showered and packed up everything. They'd gone over the house with a fine tooth comb, wiping it down and making sure to leave absolutely no evidence of what had happened or who had been here, even though Sam really doubted anyone would be looking.

Sam'a shower had been about the best thing he's ever felt in his life right behind Dean's shoulder and neck massage. It had felt good to get the sweat and grim out of his hair, to wash the stickiness of dried sweat off his skin…he felt like himself again. He came out in time to snicker at Dean who grunts and looks a little white while bending over to tie his boots up.

He sends Sam a sad excuse of a sour look and gives him a middle finger to make up for it. Sam laughs and proceeds to stuff his belongings into his duffle. Dean limps out to the impala with his duffle over his shoulder and the box of cinnamon apple oatmeal safely tucked under his other arm. Sam just shakes his head and laughs, it's fricking amazing to have his big brother back.

Dusk finds them ready to leave, ready to go home, it finds them both standing on the shore of the lake. Their backs to the place their mother had disappeared, their backs to the place they had buried Cas, their friend.

In front of them reflected and displayed is the sunset spread out on the lake's smooth surface. It's takes their breaths away, it fills them awe, with faith, with a deep sense of privilege…of just how damn lucky they are to be standing here, standing here side by side.

That same breeze blows over their faces, those same everyday sounds drift over them from the city across the water and Sam watches a frown wrinkle Dean's forehead at the serenity and mundane normality of it all. Knows what he's thinking, _we have to make a difference, it can't always be the same, we can't let what happened here be the end of the story…_

He watches with a fond smile as Dean picks up a handful of rocks, sorts through them until he finds the one he wants. Watches as Dean skips the stone one, two, three, four times over the surface of the water until it sinks and the ripples come back to them, disturbing the reflection of the sun and it's gold, purple, and red hues.

Dean looks at him with an all too familiar smirk, an excited though sad light in his ever expressive green eyes. Sam feels hope and energy surge through him, as his soul recognizes its mate, recognizes that Dean has finally found himself again. He finds himself stepping towards Dean even as his older brother puts a warm heavy hand on his shoulder, steering them towards the impala.

"Lets go make some ripples, Sammy boy."

And god, that's the best thing he's ever heard Dean say. The smile splitting his face is near painful and the way his heart sings with fullness and the rightness of them together gives him the sweetest ache as he stops.

Dean stops with him, and they both look back once more over the property, over the lake still reflecting the last ebbs of sunset colors. His mind can't even wrap around everything that happened to them here, but both the heartbreak and the joy it brings him is very very real…

"Sammy?" Dean asks, from where he's standing a few feet ahead, following his gaze over the house and the water, but now his eyes rest on Sam, watching and reading him…making sure everything's okay.

"Today's Thursday." Sam says softy in realization, and his eyes widen as he looks back to his brother, " _Today's Thursday._ "

A week.

It had been a week. The longest week of Sam's entire life. What were the future weeks going to be like? Could he and Dean do this? Could they fight through this? Could they win? He thinks it was worth it for Dean, to heal him…to let him heal in his own way. But a week, a whole week? Sam had hardly thought of Cas or their mother…just Dean, just fought to not loose his brother.

He refuses to let himself feel guilty about it, but somewhere deep down it sends shocks of pain through him…but he's not sorry. He's not. He'll never be sorry that Dean is all he can focus on, that Dean will always be his North, will always be the very compass of his heart, of his very life.

So while he could have been in the bunker researching and trying to find a way to save their mom…of course he had been here. Because Dean had been here. There was no other place for him, there with no other place for either of them but with each other. It was for this reason their mother had sacrificed herself, and it was for this reason Sam is ready to fight for the rest of his life.

"Sammy," Dean says softly. And it makes Sam look away without hesitation in a rush to meet Dean's eyes. To see what he needs, what he's trying to say or show Sam… _anything Dean, anything._

"C'mon." Dean says, a fond smile playing on his lips, the backs of his knuckles barely dragging across Sam's cheek as his hand from his shoulder down to grab firmly onto the sleeve of his jacket. "Lets go home."

But with that warm familiar hand on his arm gently pulling him towards the rest of their future, Sam finds himself thinking he already is.

 _It is not the place, it is not the time, it is not the things; but it's the person that brings us safety, joy, and love…that brings us home. —anonymous_

…the end.

…

OMGOSHHHHHH it's over. I'm crying, why am I crying?! This little adventure was amazing for me, I hope it was for you guys too!

THIS IS THE VERY VERY VERY VERY LAST CHAPTER, SO PLZ PLZ PLZ PLZ REVIEW!?;);):):):):)

((I'd like to thank each and every one of you who read this and especially to those of you who faithfully followed and reviewed. As a very attractive, wise man once said, "No matter what time it is, you all deserve a cookie." ;))

I'm going on hiatus myself guys. I've got some personal writing projects to work on this summer so I'll see you all soon, probably around September as I start to get more and more pumped for season 13! Happy fangirling and summer guys! ;);)


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